


Promises

by Jaelijn



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Avon, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, for Rumours of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 14:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: It could have gone worse, right?





	Promises

Vila gave a surprised yelp when Avon sagged against him and immediately bit his lip, praying that no one had heard. Avon had jerked at the sound, and now pulled back, putting distance between them again. If it hadn’t been so dark, Vila would have been able to see him scowling, he was sure.

“Sorry,” Vila whispered.

“No one will hear. You know there is soundproofing,” Avon said, not in a whisper, but in a soft voice nonetheless.

Oh yes, Vila knew about the soundproofing. All prisons had them, and detention centres, too – just so the Federation could install loudspeakers and play the tortured cries of their victims on a loop to drive prisoners crazy. It was hard to distinguish, sometimes, what were cries that filtered through vents, from and into the open plan transit cells, and what were recordings – you would never notice it looping, unless they wanted you to. The Federation had recordings enough. Vila was sure his own voice was on some of them, and he wondered if Avon’s was, too – Avon wasn’t the type to cry or scream futilely, but perhaps he had been different on his first experience in prison. They liked using recordings from first-timers for the tapes, a torturer had once told Vila. Vila had no reason not to believe him.

At any rate, Avon was right. It was unlikely that they would be heard out in the prison corridors. Not only had they crawled far enough into the labyrinth of vents to hit a defunct waste storage, the prison’s soundproofing had been intact. No matter what its other design flaws were – a faulty soundproofing would have been noticed long before now.

Vila was glad that they had found the waste storage, too, even though it smelled heavily of cleaning and disinfecting chemicals. There was space to move about, and though the ceiling was low, they could at least sit upright or rise up on their knees without brushing against the ceiling. It still felt enclosed, but it was a good enough place to wait for the _Liberator_ to return. It was a dead end, too, which had swept a wave of terror over Vila at first, but now he was grateful they had found it at all – a small refuge that, if the prison had been run properly, would have been filled out with sealant long ago, just like the vents through which they had first come. But no one could show too much care for a prison on a backwater tropical planet that by all rights was forgotten. Had been intended to be forgotten, leaving prisoners and guards alike to rot.

They would never have come here if Blake hadn’t heard rumours that an old rebel friend of his was imprisoned there. And because the planet was disgustingly hot, wet and infested with stinging insects, he had sent Avon and Vila to get the woman out. Vila had even understood why he needed to go down – and, really, he didn’t mind the heat as much as cold – but Avon had had to come only for the extra gun. Nothing in this prison as fancy as a computer-controlled security system. There was only a records server – ancient, slow, pre-tariell-cell, to Orac’s frustration.

They’d found the records computer access quickly enough – and also found that Blake’s friend had long since been reduced to a corpse to moulder away in the damp climate. Apparently, the guards also didn’t bother to keep to the schedule, and had walked in on them just as they were about to leave. Blake hadn’t dared to hang about in orbit, so they’d run and hidden, and now here they were, waiting. It could have gone worse.

There was a dull clank in the darkness – Avon moving about; had probably hit the wall with the gun at his waist. Vila reached up to wipe the sweat off his brow. They didn’t have a lot of water with them to replenish their fluids, but surely it couldn’t be much longer.

Avon was very close-by – Vila could feel his heat, and knew that if he reached out to his left, he would be touching him. But Vila didn’t want to move away into the darkness to find somewhere cooler. And neither, apparently, did Avon.

“How much longer, do you think?”

“We’ll know when _Liberator_ contacts us,” Avon said, voice still pitched low, but with a sharp edge to it. Vila had asked the question before, and had received the same answer.

“You’re sure the signal will penetrate these walls?”

“I’m sure. It won’t change if I tell you for the third time.”

“Right.” Vila fell silent for a moment. “Avon?”

Avon sighed.

“I have torch in my pockets somewhere.”

“Save it.”

“We would be able to see.”

“I said, save it. There is nothing to see here that you would like, Vila.”

He was probably right about that, too. Vila worried his bottom lip between his teeth, blinking away a few droplets of sweat.

“Avon?”

“What.” Avon’s voice was very flat. He was losing his patience, Vila knew, getting angry. Avon had been frustrated already before they ended up here – hadn’t wanted to go down, and it had been for nothing, too.

“Can I have the water?”

More movement in the pitch-black by his side, then the water bag they’d been sharing bumped against Vila’s shoulder. Vila took it and noticed with dismay that there wasn’t much left. “Not a lot left,” he told Avon, and received only a vague grunt in response.

Vila drank, just enough to fill his mouth. He didn’t feel thirsty, but knew he was losing too much water in the oppressive heat. He put the water bag to the ground between them after he had finished – where he would be able to find it again – and leant back against the wall. The metal was slightly cooler than the air, even after he’d been sitting there for a while.

Vila sighed. He was bored – he couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t even play with the cards he had in a pocket somewhere, or with his tools, and Avon didn’t want to talk. He tapped out a faintly-remembered Delta bar song against his leg, and when that got boring, too, resigned himself to listen to Avon’s laboured breathing until the _Liberator_ called in.

Vila paused, running back over his thoughts, suddenly worried. He listened more closely. Avon shouldn’t be breathing this oddly. They weren’t crawling through the vents anymore, and though the heat was incredible, Vila’s own pulse had long slowed.

“Avon? Are you all right?”

“What,” Avon said again, his voice still flat and soft.

“I said, are you all right?”

“Yes.” Only then Avon’s breath caught on an inhale, and with a flash Vila remembered Avon brushing – no, falling! – against him earlier.

Alarmed, adrenalin quickening his own pulse and lethargy forgotten, Vila sat up, rolling to his knees. “Avon?!”

“Shut up,” Avon said. His voice wasn’t soft – it was _faint_ , slurring slightly on the edges.

Vila patted his pockets, feeling for the torch. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Sit. Still,” Avon said, sharply and precisely.

Out of reflex, Vila froze. “How bad is it?”

“Shut up. Leave off the light. Let me alone.”

Vila could barely make out the last few words, and panic and fear curled in his stomach. His searching hand found the small torch and he flicked it on. The circle of light first caught the ceiling and his face, blinding him momentarily, and Vila shifted it around quickly, finding Avon’s face. Avon had turned his head away from the light and closed his eyes, but Vila could immediately see something was very wrong. Instead of reddened by the heat, Avon’s face was very white, and he lay slumped, not resting, against the wall. The dark colours of Avon’s usual clothes might have hidden the wound, but on the light and crème-coloured clothes they both wore as concession to the heat, Vila’s torch picked out the blood immediately. It had drenched Avon’s trousers, radiating out from his calf. Avon had bunched up the torn trouser leg over the wound and put pressure on it with his gunbelt – the gun and powerpack itself lay discarded by the side.

Vila gulped. The prison guards had been shooting at them, but this didn’t look like a blaster wound. It also seemed to be still bleeding.

“Avon?”

Avon rolled his head against the wall and glared at him, though there was very little force behind it.

“What were you going to do, bleed to death and let me find out I was sharing this space with a corpse only when Blake comes to collect us?!”

Avon’s mouth twitched, and his eyes slid shut. “Blake can go to hell.”

Channelling terror into anger, Vila sprang into action. He untied the sash of his own shirt, knotted it and used it to put additional pressure to the wound. Dismayed, he found that there was blood on the floor, too, a trail leading back to the hatch through which they had come.

Avon had gasped when Vila had pressed on the wound, but now he lay still, breathing heavily through parted lips.

“Avon?” Vila leant over him to pat his shoulder. “Avon?”

Avon mumbled something unintelligible.

“Avon, how long have you been bleeding? Avon? Can they find us by following the trail?”

Avon opened his eyes then, meeting Vila’s gaze with an effort and shook his head. “These aren’t smooth crawlspaces, Vila. A sharp piece of metal – not far from here.”

Vila barely noticed the flicker of relief. He had been lucky – it could just as well have been him. He’d been ahead of Avon, the sharp edge might as well have sliced into his hands or legs. And Avon...

Vila brought up his wrist with the bracelet, but Avon’s hand shot out to grasp his wrist. There was hardly any strength in the grip, but it was enough to stop him. “If you call the ship and they aren’t in range yet, the transmission will alert the guards. We can’t get out of here, Vila.”

“You’re dying!”

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.” The bitter wryness of Avon’s tone was marred by the fact that his hand slipped off Vila’s wrist and he shuddered.

“What? What’s wrong!?”

Avon shook his head against the wall, his eyes closed again.

“Avon?!”

There was another unintelligible mumbled, then: “Cold.”

Not a good sign, not a good sign. Vila tried to calm his own thundering heart, wiping at his brow again. He should have brought medical supplies – even just the palm-sized emergency regenerator would have helped. But they had come down carrying only the essentials – Vila’s tools, the gun, and a spare bracelet.

It was still hot, of course.

Vila scooted back to sit against the wall by Avon’s side, moved the water and lay the torch down on the floor on his other side and prodded at Avon. The idea of another body touching his in this heat wasn’t pleasant, but Avon was going into shock, was dying. Vila swallowed down a sour taste. “Here, lean into me.”

Avon’s movements were shaky and abrupt, but he managed to fall sideways against Vila a moment later, and Vila wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Avon’s sweat-damp hair tickled Vila’s throat, and he could feel Avon’s heart beating frantically. They sat in silence for a moment which Vila spent desperately hoping that Blake would hurry up, and cursing internally when still his bracelet was silent.

“You’re not scared,” Avon said suddenly, his voice very precise.

“No point, is there?”

“You’re always scared,” Avon mumbled, sounding incongruously puzzled. If Vila hadn’t known that the confusion came from shock and blood loss and Avon _dying_ , he might even have laughed. Instead, his simply squeezed Avon’s shoulder, wrapping his other arm around him, too.

Avon lapsed into silence again, aside from the occasional pained gasp and shudder. Still the _Liberator_ did not call.

Just as Vila was wondering whether, even if they came now, Avon would live through the teleport stress, Avon shifted a little. His shaking and bloodied hand came up to settle over Vila’s heart. “I’m scared,” he murmured faintly, though his voice was clear enough now – as if there hadn’t been a pause in their conversation at all.

Vila looked down, startled, but Avon’s face was obscured by the angle at which he rested against Vila, and all he could see were the trembling fingers of his hand. He didn’t know what to say.

“Nearly died last time, too.”

“Avon?”

 “Before my arrest. Nearly bled out in the street. This is a worse-smelling ditch.”

“You’re not dying.”

Avon became very still for a moment, then exhaled shudderingly. “You don’t make any sense.”

“You know me.”

“Vila,” Avon said, sounding suddenly very serious, his voice just a little stronger than it had been. “I need you to promise me something.”

Vila had witnessed death before. People he cared about, too. He knew when the point came to stop denying what was happening and let them say what still needed to be said. Knew, too, that from that moment onwards, it wasn’t much longer. He swallowed, hiding, as he always had, his tears. “Yeh?”

“There was… a woman who was very important to me. Anna – Anna Grant. She died under Federation torture because of me. I need you… to find out who killed her and kill them for me.”

“All right, Avon.”

“No!” Avon’s hand twisted into Vila’s shirt, and he sounded almost like himself: “Your word, Vila.”

“My word, then. I don’t like killing, Avon, but if they’re Federation that’ll be all right. I’ll take care of it.”

Avon’s hand relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Better yet, stay alive and we can do it together.”

A peculiar shudder went through Avon, and it took Vila a long moment to realise he was laughing soundlessly. “Sorry, Vila. I don’t think–”

At that moment, their bracelets chimed. Vila scrambled to take the call. “Blake! We need help, quick!”

Blake sounded immediately alarmed. “I’ll bring you up.”

“No! Avon won’t live through the teleport stress!”

Even through the crackling communication channel, Vila could hear the shocked gasps.

“Just send Cally down with blood supplements and an emergency medical kit! And send her down kneeling, just in case.”

“Kneeling?”

“Hurry up, Blake!”

In the time it took Cally to get there – no time at all, really – Avon had gone limp against Vila and wouldn’t respond. Vila pressed his fingers against his throat, finding a pulse – still there, still alive.

Cally appeared in a flare of teleport light, too bright for the confined space. She took only a moment to orientate herself, then was bending over Avon’s leg and taking charge. “Vila, we need to replenish his fluids while I work on this – can you insert an IV?”

“Yes.” Vila brushed the liquid from his face – no one would be able to tell whether it was sweat or tears – and took the kit from her, setting to work.

 

By the time Avon woke up, they were long back on the _Liberator_ , and flying away from that warm and wet planet. Vila sat on a chair by his bedside, arms resting on the backrest. He’d showered and changed and napped for a bit, but he had wanted to be there when Avon woke up. Avon had been shifting in his sleep for a while now, growing more restless, and finally he lay still and his eyelids flickered open. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a long moment, then rolled his head around – and found Vila grinning at him.

“I sincerely hope this isn’t hell,” Avon told him in a croaky, but firm voice.

“Not by the traditional definition,” Vila quipped cheerfully, startling a small quirk of the lips out of Avon. Vila held out the glass he’d been keeping ready. “Here. Cally says to drink this. It doesn’t look like much, but it’ll help with the fluids.”

Avon accepted the glass and shuffled around a little, sitting more upright on the reclining bed. Cally had tucked a thermal blanket tightly all around him but it had come loose from Avon’s movements and slipped down to pool at his waist. Avon drank down two swallows without comment, though he grimaced, then said: “I trust no one died.”

Vila had the odd sense that there should be a _this time_ after the sentence, but he let it slide. “Nah. Not even you. Don’t know why we bother.”

Avon drank more of Cally’s concoction. “Yes,” he mused pensively, looking into the glass, “sometimes I ask myself the same question.”

“Avon?” Vila hedged.

“Hm?”

“What you said on the planet…”

“Ah.” Avon set down the glass on the nearby patient’s table, empty now. “No, I don’t expect you to keep your word.”

“What if I want to?”

Avon frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t like the… violence and the killing, Avon, but if you’re going after Federation torturers, I’ll help you. I have… a history with them, you know.”

Avon stared at him, his gaze sharp and penetrating. For a moment, Vila was sure he would say no, but then Avon blinked and nodded. “All right. I will let you know when I find them.”

When. Not if.

Vila inhaled deeply. “Have you ever asked Blake?”

“No. Vila–”

“Won’t mention it to anyone if you don’t mention anything that happened either.”

Avon nodded. “When the _Liberator_ is mine, and the ship _will_ be mine eventually. I won’t hold you to your promise, Vila, but if you still want to keep it when the time comes, I would…” He paused, his gaze moving away from Vila and beyond him to the wall. “I would be glad to have you.”

“All right. Now lie back. Cally says you need plenty of rest.”

“Hm.” Avon settled back down, curling onto his side, and was asleep again before Vila had even reached out to tuck the thermal blanket around him.

**Author's Note:**

> The final fic from issue 2 of the all things B7 zine (completely free and digital) that I had the pleasure of editing for the second time now, [Rebels and Fools](https://rebelsandfools.tumblr.com/). You can find the details and the download link to the issue under [this link](https://rebelsandfools.tumblr.com/post/177590143533/rebels-and-fools-issue-2)!
> 
> And if you want to participate in the creation of the next issue and have your own thing in the zine, the tentative deadline for submissions is July 27th 2019! You'll find more info on tumblr, but you don't need a tumblr account to have your stuff in the zine!


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